


Bearing Witness

by kuonji



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Dark, F/M, POV Minor Character, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Apophis, my love," she calls. "It is time."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bearing Witness

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Links:  
> <http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/7361.html>

She can feel the excitement like a live palpation within her. She has waited so long, has turned her own body inside out for this, has done the unthinkable and set foot on a place no one of her kind has seen for millenia.

All for this.

She breezes into the main audience chamber, sweeping aside the door draperies with one bejeweled hand.

The Jaffa in the middle of the room drops immediately to his knee. Her own two attendants kneel as well, in the presence of their god -- her beloved.

"Apophis, my love," she calls, without preamble. "It is time."

He stands, his eyes glowing with emotion. "It is time," he repeats, pride and something like satisfaction in his tone. He does not need question her. She knows her body as well as he does the one that belongs to him.

He directs a glare at the Jaffa at his feet, whom she now takes the time to recognize as the Chief of Guards. "Dismissed," he says. They are as vermin to them, and nothing places higher in his heart than his Queen. She forgets the Jaffa's presence even before he regains his feet.

Her love takes her elbow, and she allows him to lead her down their spacious halls to their chambers.

When they pass the currently empty chambers of Klorel on the way, she pauses to sneer and to spit at his door. She has the memories of spawning him, but he is not _hers_. It doesn't matter what their laws dictate. Even if the day were to come when Klorel became System Lord, she would never be _his_ queen.

"My love," her Lord chides her. But he does not look angry. After today, they will have something that is truly theirs. In the time for a human child to birth and to grow -- a blink of an eye in a god's lifetime -- they will be joined as no Goa'uld before them have ever been.

They arrive at the chambers. All slaves are dismissed. They strip off their outer accoutrements and gaze with naked lust upon each other.

They risk much. They risk _everything_. But oh, it will be worth it.

She goes into his arms with a purr, and he wrests her onto the bed to explore her body to the full. They have practiced this act dozens of times, and it never fails to take her breath away.

She groans aloud as her love makes her body weep with pleasure. She closes her eyes, magnifying every touch and sound until it is more than she can stand.

Such wanton creatures humans are. She has the memories of a multitude of hosts. Many are stronger; many are more intelligent; but none are as adaptive, as flexible, as physically expressive as humans are.

Only one thing more could make it better.

She dips into the mind of her host, and she revels in the bursting whirls of rage/denial/shame/despair. She arches into it. She _laughs_. And her body explodes with sheer joy and power.

"My love. Ah, my Ammonet. My Queen."

She slits her eyes open. Her Lord is eager and panting for her, and she opens herself to him in answer. It is beautiful. The joining of two gods.

She wishes only that this body had not known another slave's filthy touch. It makes her sick to think of it. Her love should know only purity.

"It doesn't matter. How can it matter to me? Everything we touch is perfect."

They have talked of this many times. He knows what she is thinking even now.

"Perfect," she repeats, as he drives into her, his male passion nearing its peak. "We are perfect," she concedes. He had chosen this body for her. She had approved it. It was, by definition, godly.

"This body is strong," she gasps, pulling him closer still. Her own fire is rekindled. "It is strong enough," she says, raking her marks across her beloved's skin. "Enough to bear a god!"

She feels him shudder inside her. She feels him moan. It fans the flames inside her, and she flings him to his back and fixes her gaze on his lust-slackened face as she rocks her own pleasure out of him. It is perfect.

*****

They rest. They sup.

And when, delving into her body, she is sure they have succeeded, they walk her unattended to the rooms prepared for her.

Her Lord looks over the bare walls and unadorned furniture with disgust in his eyes.

"My love," she intercedes, placing one hand on his arm. "This is our will. This is my choice." She firms her grip. "Though my first choice you refuse me."

His eyes flare. "Two months. It is not to be discussed further."

Two months is not long. But it could be enough to be discovered. To risk so much, for what?

"This is only my shell," she argues once more. "You will not have me at your side any more this way than if you took me away now."

"The ship leaves in two months. We will be certain then. You will be safe." His jaw is set. She gives in, grudging. A hand strokes her jaw. "Will you say goodbye now, my love?" His voice is solemn.

"There is no need," she answers.

Nine months. A blink of an eye. Goodbye would be meaningless.

"When we meet again, you will see what we have made together. And soon after that, you shall be truly invincible."

"Yes. Of course." The anticipation makes his voice proud, more like himself. Like her Lord. She smiles.

"Then I shall see you soon, my love."

His hand gliding through her hair is the last thing she remembers as she slips herself away. She dreams of glory, of victory, of conquest. She dreams of Apophis.

*****  
*****

For the first time in months, she finds herself able to move. After so long as a prisoner in her own body, she tastes the freedom that she had once foolishly taken for granted.

The first thing she does is to fly with teeth bared at her would-be god.

It's an act of desperation, she knows, but she can do no less. Even as she is thwarted easily, she feels the tears come. The threats and demands of a false god run meaningless over her head. How can they matter to her now?

"Daniel," she whispers. "My Daniel." She touches her belly with shaking fingers.

She bears a monster.  


  
END.  


**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:  
>      [Virgin Flight](http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/353741.html) (Stargate Atlantis), by kuonji  
>      [Snakeskin](http://katiefic.shriftweb.org/Stories/Snakeskin.html) (Stargate SG-1), by katie m.  
>      [In a House Made of Sycamore](http://www.area52hkh.net/asb/brighid/sycamore.php) (Stargate SG-1), by Brighid  
> 


End file.
